About the Shark, phlegmatical one,
Pale sot of the Maldive sea,
The sleek little pilot-fish, azure and slim,
How alert in attendance be.
From his saw-pit of mouth, from his charnel of maw
They have nothing of harm to dread,
But liquidly glide on his ghastly flank
Or before his Gorgonian head;
Or lurk in the port of serrated teeth
In white triple tiers of glittering gates,
And there find a haven when peril’s abroad,
An asylum in jaws of the Fates!
They are friends; and friendly they guide him to prey,
Yet never partake of the treat—
Eyes and brains to the dotard lethargic and dull,
Pale ravener of horrible meat.
We have so much time to live. Or Do we? We spend our time playing games, Pretending to be what we are not. But that brings up the question: Who are we?
Who are we if we are only able to pretend
To be or not to be What we want? We know we have no control over the flow of time. No control over age or life or death. It seems as though Our lives are spiraling out of control. But maybe It is us. Maybe we are falling- Falling into a pit where there seems to be no way out.
THE STORM
Over dark waters, the sky fills with clouds Like the giant masts with sails of stone gray. The gentle breeze picks up and becomes a gust, Making the glassy water rise and beat against the hull Of a ship that has fought for decades against the raging sea. But this ship will soon fall prey to the wrath of the storm.
The waves become more violent, rising and falling under the control of the storm. The sky now becomes a whirling mass of clouds Extending as far as the eye can see Becoming darker and more gray As the ship’s ancient hull Is rocked by the heavy gust.
The boat is blasted by a mist from the sea A mist as fine as dust That covers the captain’s beard of gray As he heads into the depths of the storm. The crew knows he sees the clouds, And they busy themselves around the hull.
The wind coming off of the sea Is no longer a gust; It has changed into an assault of wind and clouds of gray Building into more than a storm. Now it looks like the clouds Are tossed about along with the ship’s hull.
The creaking hull After years of battles with the sea The ship is finally going to give. The ship is thrown to the clouds; The mast is broken off in a violent gust; This is the last storm. This is the last storm of the captain, bearded and gray.
The next day, the storm is gone. The sea of gray Has assaulted the now shattered hull; The crew and ship have lost to the storm. The violent nature of the sea Has gone away. There now is a gentle gust; But there are no clouds.
There will be another gray sea, With gusts against the hull And large storm clouds.
The Maldive Shark
By Herman Melville
About the Shark, phlegmatical one,
Pale sot of the Maldive sea,
The sleek little pilot-fish, azure and slim,
How alert in attendance be.
From his saw-pit of mouth, from his charnel of maw
They have nothing of harm to dread,
But liquidly glide on his ghastly flank
Or before his Gorgonian head;
Or lurk in the port of serrated teeth
In white triple tiers of glittering gates,
And there find a haven when peril’s abroad,
An asylum in jaws of the Fates!
They are friends; and friendly they guide him to prey,
Yet never partake of the treat—
Eyes and brains to the dotard lethargic and dull,
Pale ravener of horrible meat.
Texting
By smfa
Txt
EZ
XD
Thx
Idk
Nvrmnd
G2G
TIME
We have so much time to live. Or
Do we?
We spend our time playing games,
Pretending to be what we are not.
But that brings up the question:
Who are we?
Who are we if we are only able to pretend
To be or not to beWhat we want?
We know we have no control over the flow of time.
No control over age or life or death. It seems as though
Our lives are spiraling out of control. But maybe
It is us.
Maybe we are falling-
Falling into a pit where there seems to be no way out.
THE STORM
Over dark waters, the sky fills with clouds
Like the giant masts with sails of stone gray.
The gentle breeze picks up and becomes a gust,
Making the glassy water rise and beat against the hull
Of a ship that has fought for decades against the raging sea.
But this ship will soon fall prey to the wrath of the storm.
The waves become more violent, rising and falling under the control of the storm.
The sky now becomes a whirling mass of clouds
Extending as far as the eye can see
Becoming darker and more gray
As the ship’s ancient hull
Is rocked by the heavy gust.
The boat is blasted by a mist from the sea
A mist as fine as dust
That covers the captain’s beard of gray
As he heads into the depths of the storm.
The crew knows he sees the clouds,
And they busy themselves around the hull.
The wind coming off of the sea
Is no longer a gust;
It has changed into an assault of wind and clouds of gray
Building into more than a storm.
Now it looks like the clouds
Are tossed about along with the ship’s hull.
The creaking hull
After years of battles with the sea
The ship is finally going to give. The ship is thrown to the clouds;
The mast is broken off in a violent gust;
This is the last storm.
This is the last storm of the captain, bearded and gray.
The next day, the storm is gone. The sea of gray
Has assaulted the now shattered hull;
The crew and ship have lost to the storm.
The violent nature of the sea
Has gone away. There now is a gentle gust;
But there are no clouds.
There will be another gray sea,
With gusts against the hull
And large storm clouds.